Posted by Extranjero on November 19, 2007 at 14:09:50:
DEATH DIVE
Becky finished rubbing sun cream into her breasts, enjoying their plasticity and the slick feel of her flesh. Her petite, curvaceous body was a glossy golden brown – as if her more exotic blood was rising to the surface of her skin. Normally she came across as a mousy English girl, with her short dark hair and serious spectacles. But the sun brought out her Portuguese and Indian ancestry, in a way that office lighting never could.
She didn’t need the glasses: they were just part of the front. Her favoured guise of strait-laced secretary. She had shed the role as easily as shrugging off her clothes. Now she gleamed in the hot glare, and her shades concealed her liquid chocolate eyes. Caressing herself one final time, she lay back on the beach towel and tugged her tiny briefs back into place.
The beach was fairly crowded, with a lot of flesh on show, so she blended in despite her lusciousness. The hot Greek sun engulfed her and she wallowed dreamily. But one hand rested by the bag which contained her T-shirt, shorts – and Sig-Sauer pistol.
After a while, a girl wearing a sun hat wandered past. Judging by her creamy skin, it was the first day of her holiday. She had blonde curls and wore a blue bikini. Her shadow fell on Becky, then moved on.
Becky squinted up through the smoked lenses of her shades. The blonde girl seemed to hesitate, then stopped and put her towel down close by. Her pale skin glistened with high-factor sunblock. She glanced round rather timidly, but nobody looked twice.
The girl seemed both relieved and piqued, and Becky smiled faintly to herself. The blonde pulled an airport novel from her beach bag. Then she lay down on her front, and reached back to undo her bikini top. Slipping off the straps, she started reading. Her small, firm breasts stayed modestly concealed.
“Good book?” asked Becky wryly from the corner of her mouth.
“Just chick-lit,” said the blonde in a disdainful, cultured voice.
Becky stretched and settled back. “No trouble finding me?”
The pale girl sniffed. “They said you’d have the best tits on the beach.”
Becky felt a little smug. “You’re Emily, I take it. So tell me about the contract, then,” she said.
“Doesn’t the sea look beautiful?” the girl said, with her nose still in her book. “To look at it, you’d never guess what’s lying just a few miles off the coast. A freighter was sunk during the war. The wreck has only recently been found. And somebody’s got wind of it. They want the cargo – and we want them stopped.”
Becky raised an eyebrow. “Sounds intriguing. Nazi gold?”
“If only,” murmured Emily. She turned a page. “It’s nerve gas. Still viable, apparently. Our targets mean to offer it for sale.”
Becky whistled soundlessly. She resisted the temptation to sit up and stare across the dazzling sea. “So why use me?” she asked after a moment.
“A clash of jurisdictions. You’re deniable. You’re also bloody good.”
“Fair enough,” said Becky. “You know my terms. Now I just need the details.”
The blonde girl pushed the book across. “You’ll find it all in there. The equipment’s in a disused boat house just along the coast.” She settled her cheek against her towel. “We think they’re going to dive tomorrow night.”
Becky took the book and slipped it into her own bag. “It won’t take me long to finish it,” she said. Settling back, she smiled again. “Don’t worry, though – I never spoil the ending.”
* * *
There was a storm over the sea. She heard its distant rumbling in the darkness. Now and then the clouds lit up across the dim horizon and let her see the black shape of the boat.
The big launch rode at anchor, no lights showing, but the sea was glowing faintly as if lamps were burning somewhere in the depths. The thunder masked the low noise of the dinghy’s outboard motor. She switched it off at thirty yards and used the paddle to approach the boat. Becky was a small girl but her muscles bulged with strength, a legacy of long hours in the gym.
She wore a tight black wetsuit, like a glossy second skin. Her biceps bulged against it as she rowed. Her head was bare, a pair of goggles pushed up on her forehead. An ugly gun was slung across her back. It was a Russian APS, untraceable to Britain. It had a futuristic look – and a magazine of five-inch steel flechettes.
The dinghy nudged against the hull. The dark launch loomed above her. She guessed there were already divers down. A ladder was in place for them and she tied the dinghy to it, then clambered silently towards the deck.
She raised her head to peer over the rail, then slid across it, her wetsuit gleaming in the dark like oil. The night was hushed apart from the dull grumbling in the distance. She heard a radio playing soft rock, while voices murmured on the vessel’s bridge. The air felt dense and stifling with the closeness of the storm. Becky sweated in the suit. It crossed her mind to peel the damn thing off …
Then she heard the lazy scuff of footfalls. Becky dropped into a crouch and drew the knife she’d strapped against her calf. Her body froze and blended with the shadows. She watched a sullen female guard come pacing down the deck. The girl wore bikini briefs and a tight T-shirt. An Uzi submachine gun rested loosely in her grasp.
Emily had said the gang was female. Their normal trade was piracy, but they posed as a “girls only” scuba club. Becky had absorbed the fact and made her calculations. In her experience, female targets were more dangerous.
But sometimes they got bored too easily – just like this one. Becky held her breath and waited while the guard went past. Then she pounced with feline speed, her left hand clamping over the girl’s face. She thrust her knee into her victim’s spine and arched her backwards, then reached over her shoulder to stab down into her chest.
The girl made a muffled snorting sound as the big knife pierced her bosom. Becky gave her two fast blows, then put a third one underneath her ribs. The sentry dropped her Uzi with a clatter as she tried in vain to claw and wriggle free. But the pain of punctured organs overwhelmed her. Becky felt blood against her palm as the girl gave a final whimper and went limp.
She hauled the dead guard to the rail and let her topple over. The body swan-dived gracefully and vanished with a splash into the dark. Becky waited, listening, but the music kept on playing. She took a fresh grip on her knife and turned towards the bridge.
Suddenly a flashlight beam blazed right into her face. Adrenaline seared through her and her muscles bunched for an evasive roll. “Don’t try it, bitch!” a girl’s voice snapped. “You’re covered front and back.” Becky froze reluctantly, her night vision in shreds.
“Drop the knife,” growled someone else behind her. She let it go and spread her hands. A gun muzzle jabbed hard against her ribs. The guard unslung the APS and Becky let her take it. The muzzle was withdrawn again – and then the gun butt slammed against her spine.
Becky groaned and went down on one knee as pain engulfed her. “That’s for Sara,” spat the guard. She towered over Becky, aiming down. Her sub-machine gun was a vintage Sterling with a perforated barrel and curved clip. The girl holding the flashlight moved in closer. She raised the torch to shoulder height, as if it was a dagger poised to plunge.
“Welcome aboard,” her cold voice mocked. “So you reckoned you could take us on your own?” She was wearing a sleeveless wetsuit top, unzipped to bare her cleavage, and a pair of briefs that showed off her long legs. Her damp brown hair was scraped back from a handsome, haughty face. She looked like the kind of sporty snob who’d made PE hell for Becky, back at school.
“Shall I kill her now?” said the blonde girl with the Sterling. She wore no bra beneath her singlet, and her nipples bulged through the thin cloth. But the girl with the flashlight shook her head. “Oh, that would be too easy.” She smiled down at Becky, and then kicked her with one snow-white-sneakered foot.
Becky grunted and fell back. The blonde guard hauled her upright by her hair. Becky squirmed and clenched her teeth but didn’t try to struggle. Another girl had come on deck, and this one wore a uniform of sorts. White shorts and a short-sleeved shirt with captain’s epaulettes. There was even a gold anchor on her cap.
The tropical whites contrasted with her dusky olive skin. Her hair was as black as coal, her eyes like dates. Becky guessed that she was Greek, and the girl’s accent confirmed it. “So now we carry on, Louise?” she asked.
The girl with the flashlight nodded, and then jerked her head. “Take Madam here below.” The guard renewed her grip on Becky’s hair and shoved her forward. The captain gave a sneer of satisfaction as she passed. Then she turned back to Louise. “You did well, taking her. She must be good, to kill one of your girls even though you knew …”
Becky frowned, but heard no more as she was prodded through a hatchway and then forced down a narrow flight of steps. Another of the crew was at the bottom – in tight shorts like the captain, but she wore a plain white T-shirt and no cap. She had short fair hair and freckles and a rather wide-eyed look. Becky’s captor smirked at her. “The panic’s over. Don’t be such a wuss.”
The other girl blushed pink and scurried quickly up the steps. Becky eyed her bobbing arse, then winced as she was pushed on down the passage. They came into a cabin with a table for shared meals. The guard released her grip at last, and sent her stumbling forward, then grasped the Sterling in both hands. “Now take the wetsuit off.”
Becky hesitated, and then fumbled with the zipper. Her mind raced like an engine, but her face remained a helpless, cow-eyed mask. Her captor was Australian, with green eyes and sun-bleached hair. Her bosom filled her singlet, and her denim shorts revealed her smooth tanned legs.
The black eye of the Sterling was unblinking. Becky drew the zip down to reveal the inner arcs of her own breasts. The wetsuit parted, peeling off like a dark chrysalis. She shrugged her shoulders out of it. The Aussie girl was suitably impressed. Becky pushed the suit down round her waist, still looking nervous. She was wearing red bikini briefs beneath, and nothing else.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked in a small voice.
Her captor smiled unpleasantly. “We keep you alive until the girls get back. If you’re lucky I’ll just shoot you then and toss you overboard. But Captain Neval says there’s sharks around, and we can’t have them interfering with the dive.” Reaching down, she patted the diver’s knife on her left hip. “We’ll need some bait to draw them off. Still wriggling, and pumping out fresh blood ...”
Becky finished tugging off the wetsuit. Her goggles were still pushed up above her fringe. Stripped of its rubber skin, her flesh looked soft and vulnerable. The guard’s green eyes were gloating. “You don’t look so tough right now.”
She crossed the cabin, Sterling aimed, and Becky shrank away. The blonde girl gave a spiteful grin and struck her with the skeletal steel butt. Becky turned her shoulder to the blow, but it still jarred her. She gasped with pain and stumbled back. “And she said you were good,” the blonde girl sneered.
“Better than your dozy girlfriend Sara,” Becky hissed.
The girl’s full lips drew tight with sudden fury and she raised the Sterling for another blow. Her rage was all the opening Becky needed. She made as if to cower back – then lunged beneath the gun butt, punching hard. Her fist connected with the blonde’s flat belly, feeling the wall of well-toned muscle underneath soft skin. But her blow sank home with winding force and the guard jerked forward, whooping. Becky knocked the gun aside, and snatched the girl’s knife as she spun her round.
“Better than you and all,” she said and sliced her captor’s throat. The girl made a frantic croaking sound, then gurgled as she swallowed her own blood. She bucked and flailed, but couldn’t break from Becky’s tight embrace. Her mouth gaped open dumbly as her heaving breasts were soaked a vivid red.
Becky felt the girl’s firm buttocks rub against her crotch. The last thing that the girl felt was the bulge of Becky’s tits against her back. The nipples were stiff and swollen with arousal. The blonde’s last breath came bubbling out. Becky let her droop, then lowered her to the deck.
She brushed her wrist across her sweaty forehead. Close-up killing turned her on: a crack in her professional façade. Licking her lips, she took the dead girl’s knife belt and strapped it round her own slim waist, then picked the Sterling up.
The boat was silent, undulating gently on the swell. She padded down the passageway, still wearing nothing but her skimpy briefs. Climbing the steps, her weapon braced, she found the deck deserted. Her finger teased the trigger as she followed the sound of music to the bridge.
The captain and the blonde deckhand were standing at the windows. The captain was peering through binoculars. “The sharks are here,” she said after a moment. “Better get that bitch up top so she can draw them off ...”
The little blonde turned dutifully, and then her blue eyes widened. “Sorry,” Becky said, “bait’s off.” She fired a burst into the deckhand’s tits.
The well filled T-shirt sprouted wounds like poppies, and the girl reared backwards with an anguished wail. The captain spun around and cursed in Greek, but she was cornered. The Sterling rattled briefly, punching holes into her midriff and firm breasts. She jiggled like the blonde had done, her dark head flipping back, and then she slumped against the compass and slid down.
Becky swung out onto the wing while the spent shells were still falling. A guard in shorts and crop-top scurried into view below. Becky opened fire before the girl could get her bearings. The perforated barrel blazed, and blood came spurting out of punctured flesh. The guard managed an unstrung cry as the impacts drove her backwards. Her body tipped over the rail, her hands still clutching vainly at her chest.
Becky’s own breasts quivered with the recoil, then swelled and sank as she refilled her lungs. She waited, but there was no further challenge. Louise must have dived to join the salvage team. Becky went below and found herself a scuba tank and pair of flippers. She retrieved her APS as well, then pulled her goggles down and took the plunge.
The sea was warm, but cooler than the sticky night above, and she felt her nipples stiffening again. As the cloud of bubbles cleared she saw an eerie glow beneath her. The sea bed was lit by arc lights fixed to buoys that had been anchored round the wreck.
The sunken ship was grey and had a ghostly look to it. Its back was broken and its lines were blurred by silt and underwater growth. Staring down at it, she felt a knot in her bare belly. The wreck seemed brooding, ominous. She could sense the dormant horror in its hold.
Three of Louise’s divers hovered round it. They all wore T-shirts and bikini briefs. The basket of a hoist was ready to receive the cargo. And the divers carried spearguns to ward off any sharks.
Becky filled her lungs and breathed a stream of silver bubbles. Readying the APS, she started swimming down towards the wreck. The gun had the appearance of a squat Kalashnikov, with an outsized magazine for the flechettes.
She glided past one of the lights and cast a prowling shadow. The nearest of the girls swung round, her speargun raised – and stiffened in surprise. Becky fancied she could see her wide eyes through the mask. Then the girl rose up to meet her, levelling the triple-pointed spear. Becky’s thighs pumped as she kicked towards her, steadying her aim with the momentum of her plunge. The APS juddered with a spurt of bubbles. Half a dozen bright flechettes tore through the diver’s T-shirt and her tits.
The girl convulsed like a hooked fish and clutched the leaking punctures, but the darts were buried in her heart and lungs. She writhed despairingly and then hung weightless. A crimson cloud began to spread as Becky powered past towards the wreck.
The second diver twisted clear and discharged her own speargun. The missile flashed towards her; Becky wrenched herself into a barrel roll. The harpoon bubbled past and she kept swimming, triggering the underwater rifle as she swooped. The girl’s breasts strained at her translucent T-shirt. Then the flechettes riddled her, and her mouth gaped open in a soundless cry.
The third of the girls had gone to ground behind a rocky outcrop. Becky skimmed the sea bed with her bare tits almost brushing the white sand. Even as her heartbeat thrummed with tension, she was savouring the water on her skin. The girl broke cover, trying to outflank her, and Becky fired another winking burst.
Suddenly a shadow cruised across her. Becky flipped herself aside and twisted round. A shark was circling balefully, its downturned mouth agape. It turned and came at her again. She fired a burst of darts to scare it off.
The big fish thrashed away, alarmed – and the APS locked empty. Becky’s heartbeat surged in her bare breast. She slid across the silty bottom, reaching for her knife – then saw the speargun the first girl had dropped. She took hold of the pistol grip and waited, aware that each time she breathed out, a bubbling silver cloud gave her away.
The third girl scudded through the rocks and wreckage, her own speargun held out in front of her. Her dark hair swirled around her mask like seaweed. The muscles in her smooth thighs rippled as her long legs kicked. She saw the bubbles streaming up from where the bitch lay doggo. Holding her breath, she glided in, then lunged and brought her speargun round to bear.
The girl’s tank lay abandoned in the ooze beyond the outcrop. The diver stared in disbelief as the mouthpiece spurted bubbles uselessly. Then she glimpsed a movement from the corner of her mask. Recoiling, she began to turn, and a harpoon struck her just below the breast.
Becky watched the skewered diver squirm in agony, then swam down quickly to retrieve her tank. She clamped her lips around the bubbling mouthpiece, her breasts inflating as she filled her lungs. The stricken diver clawed at her own tits and then slumped lifeless, her body drifting down to settle gently on the welcoming white sand.
Becky shrugged her tank back on and swam towards the wreck. Another shark was orbiting, a phantom in the gloom beyond the lights. Ignoring it, she drew her knife and moved along the ship’s encrusted hull. A torpedo or mine had torn it open like a rusty can. She ducked into the gaping hole and found herself in labyrinthine gloom.
She flippered down a passageway; her breathing hissed and bubbled in her ears. A doorway at the far end was wide open. Beyond, the glow of flashlights danced like spectres in the dark. Becky glided through and felt a tug of vertigo as she emerged into the vault of the ship’s hold. The hatches above had been blown off and a sickly gleam seeped downward, but the cavernous space was full of shadows, save for where the torchlight pushed them back.
Louise was down there, crouched over an ammunition crate. Becky recognised her by her sleeveless wetsuit top. Another member of her team was rising from floor level, with a metal cylinder clasped to her chest.
The thing was dull and greenish-grey, the size of a small fire extinguisher. Becky’s nerve ends tingled as the unsuspecting girl came swimming up. She could just make out the skull and crossbones stencilled on the shell, along with the German word GIFTGAS.
It wasn’t the sort of gift a girl would want.
The girl sensed her presence and looked up. Becky glimpsed her wide brown eyes. Then the knife blade slashed across and cut her breathing tube. A burst of bubbles mushroomed out and the brown eyes bulged with panic. The girl released the gas shell as the briny sea went scalding down her throat. Like all Louise’s girls, her breasts were bare beneath her T-shirt. They heaved against the clinging cotton as she fought for breath. But the water poured into her lungs and smothered her in seconds. Her body jerked spasmodically, her mouth a woeful O.
The gas shell was still tumbling in slow motion. Louise looked round and then reacted as if galvanised. She powered up towards the open hatches. Becky followed, muscles rippling, as the gas shell landed on the crates. The passage of time had rendered it unstable, and it went off with a flash and stifled thud. It set the other shells off in a rippling detonation that sent Becky soaring upwards through the hatch.
A high explosive cargo would have blown the ship apart, but the shells only contained enough to spread their lethal loads. The concussion was still jolting, like a ton of firecrackers. The belly of the ship lit up, and then a churning fog engulfed the hold.
Becky didn’t know how well the gas worked underwater, and she wasn’t going to linger and find out. She swam clear of the wreck and Louise swooped to intercept her, as sleek and murderous as any shark.
The girl had drawn a big knife of her own and slashed in fury. Becky twisted like a fish and jabbed her own blade at Louise’s face. Louise reared back and hovered, treading water. Becky began to circle her. They glared at one another through their masks. Becky’s breasts pulsated with her breathing, while Louise’s cleavage stretched her jerkin tight.
Becky lunged again and Louise somersaulted backwards, then kicked the small girl’s belly with both feet. Becky doubled forward with a silent gasp of pain. Her mouthpiece popped out, spouting bubbles, and she took a mouthful of salt sea. Louise completed her back-flip and came at her again. Becky grasped the trailing hose and sprayed her with the churning silver cloud. Louise blundered through it and her blade scraped Becky’s ribs. Becky spun to let her pass, then shed her scuba tank a second time.
Free of its bulk, she pounced while her opponent was still turning and took a firm grip on Louise’s tank. The tall girl bucked and wriggled as she tried to shake her off, but Becky clung on like grim death as they twisted through the underwater gloom. She felt her lungs begin to ache, demanding oxygen. Her tank was somersaulting clear, still spewing out a tantalising cloud.
Louise struck back blindly with her knife, but couldn’t reach her. Becky’s chest was burning now. Her ears were roaring like a subway train. She sliced Louise’s harness and the scuba tank came free. The girl twisted back to strike again, and Becky pulled them both into a roll. Her legs kicked up like pistons as Louise came round on top, driving the tall girl surfaceward as Becky and the tank sank out of reach.
Louise tried frantically to stop ascending, but without the tank her body was too light. In any case, the force of Becky’s kick had winded her and now she had to breathe or she would burst. She broke the surface with a whoop and gulped to fill her lungs. But she had come up too quickly, and the nitrogen was fizzling in her blood.
She felt the twinges with a thrill of horror. Decompression sickness! She struck out towards the launch. Then a crushing pressure seemed to paralyse her chest as the bubbles in her bloodstream blocked the veins.
Louise threw her head back with a guttural choking sound and clawed her chest as if to reach her lungs. The fatal embolism was quick but painful. She squirmed and kicked, and then went limp. Her body slumped into a face-down float.
From below, she seemed to hang like a dark angel, her arms spread and her masked face staring down. Becky watched with half an eye, still gorging on the tank as if the mouthpiece was a long-lost lover’s cock. Beneath her feet, the cloud of gas had curdled in the water. The sharks retreated, twitching, as it started to disperse like ghostly fog.
* * *
Emily stepped from the shower and dried off with a bath sheet, enjoying its laundered freshness on her skin. Her cases were already packed for checkout after breakfast. But first she had to email her report.
Her room had a view over the sea. The sky was pink already. It promised to be a lovely sunrise now the storm had passed. The full length doors stood open but the nets hung motionless. With luck she’d finish her report in time to watch the glowing dawn come up.
She padded nude across the half-dark bedroom and slipped into a pair of boy-cut briefs. Her laptop was on the table by the windows. She raised the screen and bent down to log on.
“Those knickers make your arse look big,” said Becky from behind her.
Emily swung round with a gasp to find the small assassin slouching back against the pillows on her bed. She wore hacked-off denim shorts and a cropped tee-shirt. Her feet were bare. Her dark hair was still damp.
The blonde girl blinked uncertainly. Her hands went to her breasts. Becky gave a crooked smile and raised the glitzy airport paperback. “I finished this,” she said. “I thought I’d let you have it back. It’s about a two-faced little minx … but I said I wouldn’t give away the ending.”
Emily swallowed. “Listen … I’m just filing my report. You earned your fee … I’ll make sure that they know …” She cringed against the tabletop and dropped her hands to grip it. Her pale eyes flicked to Becky’s pistol, resting on the nightstand next to her.
“I guess you made a profit too,” said Becky. “The problem is, I don’t like being betrayed.”
Her contact wriggled like a guilty schoolgirl. “Listen,” she said feebly, “can’t we cut a deal on this?” As she spoke, her hand was sliding backwards. Becky’s dark eyes narrowed and she started to sit up. Emily’s blind fingers found the butt of the Beretta which was tucked into the laptop’s open case. She snatched it out and squeezed the trigger, but the gun clicked dully. Becky sadly shook her head.
“What kind of deal is that?”
She raised a speargun from the bed and fired it with a cough of compressed air. The spear drove into Emily’s pale chest and punched her backwards. She mewed with pain and clutched her tits, her pretty face contorting miserably. Her body writhed, then slumped through the net curtains, collapsing on the balcony. Her breasts heaved as she twisted and went limp.
“I hope you take my point,” said Becky flatly. She swung her bare legs off the bed and tucked her pistol down into her shorts. Crossing the room, she dropped the book beside the dead girl’s body, then swung over the railing and climbed down towards the empty twilight beach.